


"I'm Gonna Miss You After The War, Andrew!"

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A cold, wet night; an explosion gone wrong; and a Hero left alone in the dark, his mind the only thing moving faster than at a crawl.





	"I'm Gonna Miss You After The War, Andrew!"

"I'm gonna miss you after the war, Andrew!" he'd said after yet another example of just how clueless young Andrew Carter really was.

The words had been spoken in wry sarcasm, but they'd been true, nevertheless. He was going to miss Andrew; he was going to miss them all. 

But then again, no, he probably wouldn't. Even if he survived THIS little disaster, he couldn't see himself actually surviving the war, between the camp, the Gestapo, the bloody missions they kept running against all logic and common sense. 

And Hogan. No, even if he survived all the rest, he rather doubted he'd survive Hogan. He'd gotten that impression more than once, anyway; that when Hogan was ready to go on to his next 'project', the officer wouldn't want to be leaving around any messy details from his last one. The cunning officer probably had something all planned out just for that eventuality. Of course he did; the man had a plan for just about everything, now didn't he?

Well, he didn't mind that so much; maybe, if he was lucky, if Hogan waited til it was all over, the others were safe and on their way home, he'd be able to return the favor at the same time. If it would prevent some other bloke {"bloody 'ell, maybe a girl, maybe some kid!"} from ending up in Hogan's masterful hands, it'd be worth them putting on his record "went bonkers; took out his commanding officer before anyone could stop him. Ended up dead himself; probably lucky, that, avoiding a firing squad anyway." 

Well, none of that would matter so much, not if the other guys didn't get caught up in it, get hurt. Yes, Mavis would be horrified, most like, but Caeide? Wouldn't blink an eye, she wouldn't, not his Brat, not even if he resorted to tearing Hogan's throat out with his bare hands, even his teeth! 

He coughed as a reluctant laugh bubbled up, along with a few splotches of blood. He decided not to try and figure out where the blood was coming from; didn't think the knowing would do him any good anyway. 

{"Remember 'er telling Cam Madison "our mother didn't raise any of us to be missish, you know!" Blimey! Missish? Bloody 'ell on wheels, that's what she is, 'er AND 'er sisters!"}. 

No, she'd shed no tears for Hogan, he knew that, though he was sure she'd shed a few for him. All of a sudden he really wished he could see her one last time, maybe say a few things he'd never had the nerve to say before.

There was a moon now; he couldn't remember when that had happened. The moon had been hidden behind dense clouds when they'd left camp. It was a pretty sight, even if it did tend to shiver and separate into two, then three separate images. He squinted, trying to see if he could see the lady some said sat there, brushing her hair. Someone, maybe Andrew, had told him she wore a pretty, satiny robe, sitting there on a bench in front of a dressing table and mirror. 

{"Seems only right; can't 'ave 'er sitting there not wearing anything. Might catch a chill."}

He was disappointed when, no matter how hard he looked, he just couldn't make out that pretty lady in the pretty robe, not in ANY of those three shining orbs.

{"Maybe she's already finished, all tucked in for the night. Just my luck; would've been something to tell Andrew about."}. 

That brought his mind back to his original line of thinking.

{"Andrew. Where was I? Oh, yes, missing Andrew. And Louie, and Kinch and Olsen. And others too. Some already dead, the ones I'll miss; some still alive, at least so far. Course, tomorrow might be different. Alive, dead; that can all shift around right fast during a war. Course, can all shift around right fast outside a war too."}

He wasn't thinking too clearly, he knew that. That explosion had been too close, or maybe it was that the explosion was right where it was supposed to be, but that HE had been too close. He frowned, trying to figure out if that mattered either way, but then gave a painful shrug. 

{"No, probably not. Either way, the bridge is long gone, and if I don't make my blasted legs work better than they've been doing, I'll be long gone too."}. 

He supposed it was ironic that it hadn't been him, or, as far as he knew, any of his group that had caused that explosion. From where he'd been standing, it almost looked like it was that car, passing over the bridge above him and not thirty yards away, that had blown up, the bridge just following right along. 

The night was cold, colder than he remembered it being when they'd left camp. And that light mist coming down wasn't helping at all. The mist mixed with the blood on his face and the dust from the explosion, forming a grim sludge, not that there was anyone there to see it.

Lord, he hated being cold and wet. Too many memories there. 

He remembered now, it had been cold and wet when he'd come home, soaked to the skin, just in time to try and pull his drunk-out-of-his-mind father off from beating up his mum. Ended up with a broken arm and a broken skull from that; came to with his battered mother laying next to him on the bed. Opened his eyes and saw his old sot of a father self-righteously telling a stone-faced Maudie "fell down the steps, she did, Maudie. Useless pile of shite that 'e is, 'e couldn't even catch 'er to keep 'er from going all the way to the bottom! Useless! Who's gonna get the meals around 'ere til she's on 'er feet again, that's w'at I want to know!!" He'd been, what, six? Seven? Mavis was barely walking, he remember that. Or maybe she'd just been crawling, he couldn't remember for sure.

{"Couldn't 'ave been much older; lost 'er, our Mum, not long after, 'im going around all po-faced, lamenting 'she never DID 'ave a strong constitution'. Well, maybe she would 'ave, without the twice a month bashings, and with 'aving more on the table if 'e 'adn't drunk down most of 'is wages and 'ers too."}

{"I remember, Mavis was just crawling then, but she was walking not long after, toddling anyways. Didn't want me carrying 'er when I'd take 'er down to Alfie's place, for 'is sweet Maisie to look after 'er til I came back from running odd jobs and w'atever else I could find to do. Don't know w'at I'd 'ave done without the two of them."}

He shivered in the night air, letting his fingers roam to see if he could tell just how much damage had been done. He'd tried that before, but his hands hadn't seemed to want to cooperate. 

{"All the other things I've asked me 'magic fingers' to do, you'd think this was little enough,"} he mused.

This time his fingers seemed to have gotten the message, and slowly, carefully, he let his hands push him to a seated position. That made his head spin and his stomach roil, but he figured it was an improvement. Of course, it wasn't MOVING actually; not helping him get back to camp before some wandering patrol found him and added to his woes, but it was something.

He hated being helpless; hated being sick, hurt. And he'd be the first to admit that he pretty well made everyone around him at least as miserable as HE was when that happened. They'd all seen him through bouts of one type or another. Mavis, Maude and Marisol. What they'd put up with over the years! Then it was LeBeau; he wouldn't have survived if Louie hadn't ended up here, he knew that. Kinch and Olsen did their share, and Andrew, of course.

{"Andrew,"} an image of the young American popping into his mind, then gone again in an instant.

{"And then there was Caeide. Wouldn't 'ave survived without 'er either, most likely, not in those days. Could go from a sweet-voiced ministering angel to a tight-jawed Brat, blistering me for not doing w'at she told me to, all in a second! "Drink it down!", she'd tell me, and not taking 'no' for an answer. Smelled bloody awful, most of 'er messes, and tasted worse, but I'd end up swallowing them down. Always figured I'd end up with 'er sitting on me chest, 'olding me nose closed while tipping the foul brew down my throat if I didn't. Coo, I miss 'er! She'd 'ave me on my feet in no time, she would, just by sheer force of will if nothing else!"}

He wished once again he'd been able to see that lady in the moon; he could have pretended it was the Brat looking down at him, lending him her strength to get him going. He snorted, {"most likely scolding me something fierce about getting up and moving, not sitting 'ere like a ninny! Never was one for mincing words, not 'er."}

He frowned in the darkness, realizing he was rambling worse than Andrew. 

{"Andrew. If I don't make it back, who's gonna look out after Andrew? Kinch, maybe? Louie? Can't leave it up to 'ogan, that's for bloody sure!"}

That thought, Andrew being left to Hogan's mercy, such as it was, was enough to get him considering his position once more. So, he'd managed to sit up, his back against a convenient tree. Surely, with a little effort, he could push himself to his feet. And from there, well, walking should just come naturally. 

{"Course it should. Been doing it all my life; shouldn't find it too 'ard now,"} he told himself firmly.

He started to shift, stopped when a sudden burst of pain took his breath, made his head spin. Tilting his head back, he focused on those two, three, no, just two moons above. Squinting, he thought he just made out a shadow, an outline, then the image became very sharp and clear, but it certainly wasn't a sweet lady in a pretty, soft robe brushing her hair. No, it was a pursed-mouth youngster in jacket and trousers, hands firmly on her hips, leaning forward, lips moving now. He waited, and then a reluctant smile came to him as he read those lips, {"surprisingly easy considering the distance"}. If he strained just a little, he could make out her voice, oh so familiar, the Brat scolding him just as he should have expected.

"Yes, you had the right of it, Peter my lad! And it's bloody well annoyed with you I am right now, I'll have you know! Getting yourself all bunged up in some foolish thing you weren't even a part of! Bad enough what you get up to on your own, I'd think! Acourse, you always could find trouble where no one else could! And, yes, you need to get yourself up and moving! You can't leave young Andrew for someone else to protect! Aye, Kinch and LeBeau will do their best, I've no doubts of that. But he's YOURS, Peter; yours in all manner of ways, but yours to protect and care for as much as all else! After all, you need to be bringing him here, to Haven, after the war. I've told Angie all about him, and Duggan as well, and Estelle and Gracie too. They're all expecting him, right along with you! Now, laddie mine, you just get yourself up onto those big feet of yours, and get yourself right back to camp! Don't make me have to tell you again!"}

He wasn't sure how he'd managed, but by the time that fierce scolding was over and the vision in the moon had faded back to just a silvery glow, he was on his feet. 

{"Alright, just to that next tree. Then we'll take it from there."}

To that next tree, then to another, and then to another. He was leaning against tree number whatever, feeling himself slide into a seated position once more, when he heard the rustling in the underbrush and tensed in anticipation.

 

"Peter??! Geeze, Peter, what the heck happened?? What did you do to yourself? Boy, I KNEW I shouldn't have left you alone. And you talk about ME being clumsy!" A loud hiss, "hey, Kinch, LeBeau. He's over here!"

The voice, the words barely penetrated the fog surrounding him, then suddenly they came shining through, like a great beam of light.

"Andrew?? That you, Andrew? Bloody 'ell, was just thinking about you. Gonna miss you after the war, you know?" The words were little more than a whisper, but they got a grin of relief from the young man now crouched so close beside him.

"Miss me? Not a chance! Don't you remember? You and me, after the war, we're headed right off to Caeide's place! Well, after I go see my mom, of course. But right after that! You aren't gonna get a chance to miss me! Why, I bet you're gonna be chewing me out and complaining about me being so clumsy and talking so much all the way to us turning a hundred. Of course, you'll turn a hundred before me, but not so much more. At least it won't seem that way, not by then. You know, like nine and nineteen seem a world apart, and nineteen and twenty-nine seem maybe a little bit closer, but by the time you hit fifty and sixty, it kinda narrows down, and after that . . ."

"Andrew? You gonna natter on all night or are you gonna 'elp me stand up? Can't 'ead off to Caeide's place if we don't make it back to camp and get through this bloody war, now can we?" 

The smile on Newkirk's face was a very tiny one, a painful one, but it was a smile. Not too many people could make Peter Newkirk smile, for real, but Andrew Carter, well, Andrew was special. Like Caeide had told him, Andrew was HIS. His in all sorts of ways, but certainly his to look out for, to protect. 

{"And Lord knows, Andrew needs SOMEONE to look out for him, the clumsy twit,"} Peter thought fondly, as Kinch and LeBeau and Andrew carefully hauled him to his feet and started back to camp. Peter helped as much as he could, anxious to get back; after all, he had a job to do - look after Andrew, make it through the war, and get both of them safely off to Haven. They'd joked about it before, at least HE'D been joking, at least halfway, though he'd never been sure about Andrew; now, it seemed a solid plan, something that just seemed RIGHT somehow.

{"After all, can't go disappointing Angie and Estelle and the cat and that bloody ram, now can we?"} he thought, taking one last long look at that moon, now just a single one, hanging low in the sky. And if his friends wondered a little at that faint chuckle, well, they hadn't seen that figure silhouetted against the shimmering surface, the one with the cheeky grin and mischievious wink, nodding approvingly at him from so far away. But he did, and he risked a slight wave and nod in return.

{"If Andrew goes asking me if I saw the lady in the moon, I'll be able to tell 'im right smart, "that was no lady, Andrew, that was my Brat!"}, another chuckle making its way to the surface. 

The others took note, figured it was another sign that they'd better get their teammate back to camp without delay. Anyone who'd be waving at the moon, chuckling, looking the way he looked, well, obviously Scotty Wilson needed to be taking a good hard look at a possible concussion!


End file.
